A/N: As promised, here's the next chapter! But unlike I thought, right on schedule. :P
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Proof that I did not know how to properly throw a punch was evident in my wrist the following morning. It ached, but I did not let that slow down my preparations to leave.
I had behaved abominably the night before yet could not find it in my heart to apologize to Giselle. I still felt she deserved the broken nose; just ashamed I was the one who gave it to her. Madame Giry would likely be furious with me once she found out what I had done. She had no time to punish me previously. After talking with Raoul, I went straight to bed and cried myself to sleep.
I awoke before the sun. In the grim, grey light of dawn, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Guilt was not the only thing I felt. Uncertainty mingled with frustration as I thought about my conversation with the vicomte. I tried to convince him to perform Don Juan for a few reasons.
First, I hoped it would appease the phantom. If we played along with his demands, there was a chance he would leave Christine alone and maybe even put off whatever plans he had for Raoul. Second, my curiosity; I wanted to hear his opera. And third, I needed him to see he had an accomplice above ground who was not afraid to stand up for him. I needed him to know he wasn't alone.
I thought I'd felt a connection growing between us, the phantom and me. However, his threat said otherwise. I couldn't understand it. His searing glance during the masquerade, his gentle touch on the rooftop, him being my abonné—even the fact that he hadn't murdered me yet—all seemed to point to some kind of affection for me. The very thought of the phantom falling in love with me also upset me.
I was trying to get his attention. Why? Did I truly want the attention of a murderer? Especially when he loved somebody else. I was losing my mind.
This situation called for more than a mere walk around the theatre, or even the city. I needed to get away; visit my grandfather's grave, and hopefully gain some clarity. I hoped Destiny would send me another answer like it had sent Madame Giry so many months ago.
The night before, I had not even changed out of my luxurious ball-gown from the masquerade. I could not be bothered to change. So, still dressed, I rolled out of bed, threw a shawl around my shoulders, snatched my cloak from its hook, and crept out of the room. Raoul was stationed just outside the dormitory, presumably to protect us. Luckily for me, he was fast asleep.
In my rush to the carriage house, I almost collided with a figure coming around a corner. We both gasped and startled, jumping backwards.
The pleasant, familiar figure recovered first. "Oh, Lina! It's you."
"Christine!" Closing my eyes, I put my hand to my heart. We both heaved a sigh of relief.
Opening my eyes, I apologized for nearly trampling her.
"It's all right." She eyed my attire. "Are you going somewhere?"
"I'm going to visit my grand-père's grave. It appears you have a similar thought in mind."
Her shoulders drooped and she glimpsed at the bouquet of red roses in her hands. "I do." Perking up, she said, "But we can ride together. The carriage is already being prepared."
As much as I wanted to be alone, the presence of a friend gave me strength. I agreed. We hurried to the carriage and climbed aboard, Christine quietly telling the waiting driver our destination.
The hunched driver flicked the reins and the horses set off at a quick pace down the street. Their hooves clopped against the cobbles, a loud beat, deafening to my ears. It echoed throughout the too quiet city. I kept waiting for someone to come running out to stop us. A silly notion, of course. There was nothing wrong with visiting the cemetery. But the sensation that some danger lurked just out of sight haunted me.
Christine and I rode in silence all the way to the cemetery. Her thoughts and emotions were no doubt as conflicted and confused as mine, and we used the time for contemplation.
When we arrived we gave each other encouraging, if weak, smiles before stepping down from the carriage. Christine set a slow, steady pace into the cemetery and I followed her lead. I was anxious to enter; a fog rose from the earth, swirling at our passing, and crooked trees devoid of leaves stood like sentinels, collecting snow. I regarded the sculpted stone faces, indifferent to my plight. Despite my unease, nothing seemed amiss. As we parted to search for our individual destinations, I heard Christine speaking to herself.
"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her father promised her that he would send her the Angel of Music. Her father promised her. Her father promised her..."
My insides twisted at her unsettling words and a shudder ran through me. I grasped my cloak with both hands, pulling it tight to keep out the cold.
It did not take long before I heard her heavenly voice carrying through the misty morn. The tune was soft and sad, increasing the burden of my already heavy heart.
You were once my one companion
You were all that mattered
You were once a friend and father
Then my world was shattered
Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near
Somehow it seemed
If I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here
Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
All that you dreamed I could
Passing bells and sculpted angels
Cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions
You were warm and gentle...
I was having trouble hearing her clearly as the distance between us grew. It mattered little, because I knew her pain. Even though our pasts were vastly different, I could join this song. As a light snow fell and we passed cold stone crosses and angels, our voices melded as one.
Too many years, fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die?
Wishing you were somehow here again
Knowing we must say goodbye
I stopped. What about the ending? I was not certain those were going to be the same. Strolling past graves, my brow creased as I listened, but my mind started wandering. Although we both suffered silently with our losses, her father had been gone much longer than my grandfather, and our predicaments were different concerning the phantom.
Try to forgive teach me to live
Give me the strength to try
No more memories, no more silent tears
No more gazing across the wasted years
Help me say goodbye
Her voice dropped too low for me to understand any further words, but I heard her reach and hold the high note, sending chills down my back. Her song over, the cemetery became eerily quiet; the accumulated snow softened the sound of my footfalls. As I was nearing my grandfather's gravestone, an unusual sound carried to my ears, and I paused. Was Christine singing again?
No, it was not a human voice, but the singing of a violin. It played only a moment, and when it finished, another voice sounded. It was too soft for me to easily recognize, but it was a male voice. I frowned. Had the driver followed her? Why would he do such a thing?
Whoever it was, Christine responded, and I strained to hear. I couldn't quite make out the words, though I was certain I heard her asking the singer who they were. The masculine voice started again, louder this time, and my blood ran cold at the familiarity. I jerked my head around, listening, spellbound.
Too long you've wandered in winter
Far from my fathering gaze
You resist yet your soul obeys!
As both Christine's and the phantom's voices reached a crescendo, I yanked myself from my shocked stupor and bolted away. Though the words were distinct now, I hardly heard them as I dodged gravestones, screaming Christine's name. I was positive he would not harm her, yet I feared for her. What was his plan?
Angel of Music, I denied you
Turning from true beauty
Angel of Music, do not shun me
Angel of Music my protector!
Come to your strange angel...
Come to me, strange angel...
Her words unnerved me. True beauty? From her account, he was hideous. When did she change her mind? She went from cautious to trusting much too quickly; something was wrong.
The Daaé mausoleum came into view. Its doors were open, and an orange light glowed from inside. Christine was halfway up the steps, ignoring my pleas for her to stop. Phantom's voice turned hypnotic, coaxing her to come to him. As I yelled her name the cracking of hooves on the ground broke through my panic and I turned to see the vicomte galloping toward us.
I am your Angel of Music...
Come to me Angel of Music...
"No, Christine, wait!" Raoul shouted. He pulled his horse to a stop and leaped from its bare back, an obvious sign he had left the opera house in a hurry. It wasn't until he shouted at Christine again to wait, that she was able to break free from the trance she was in. I hung back, not wanting to get too close to the mausoleum.
Raoul had no such reservations about getting nearer the tiny building; he ran up the steps, drawing his sword as he spoke. "Whatever you believe, this man...this thing is not your father!" The vicomte passed Christine, putting himself in between her and the perceived threat.
At that moment a figure appeared on the mausoleum roof, causing gasps to escape Christine's lips and mine. The phantom leapt off the roof, nearly missing Raoul. The vicomte shouted at the unanticipated manner of his arrival. Steel clashed as their swords met again and again, the phantom driving the vicomte back. Christine and I could do nothing but gape as the two men fought. Watching them, my fear for Raoul grew. The Phantom was the better swordsman. His moves were strong, confident, and sure. One mistake and the likelihood of Raoul gaining his own plot in the cemetery increased.
While he made sure he kept distance between himself and the phantom, I saw the fallen tree limb behind him. Whether fear or shock held me in its grip, I could not call out to warn Raoul of the hazard. The phantom had other ideas. Using his incredible skill, he shot his arm out, sword and all, hitting Raoul and catching him off-guard, causing him to trip over the limb. Raoul had speed on his side, though. He dodged the phantom's downward swing. The blade hit the limb sending wood chips and snow flying.
I'm not sure I breathed at all during the fight. The phantom fought well, but he fought dirty, and I silently prayed for the vicomte to do the same. The hard part was not knowing how I wanted this fight to end. Or more importantly, what would I do once it did?
Whatever happened, I knew I did not want either of them to die. The vicomte did not seem made for extended battle. He did well, holding his own, but I wondered how long he could last under the phantom's brutal onslaught.
Finally, the phantom swished his cape as he spun and his sword caught the vicomte's arm, a red stain blooming on his sleeve. Raoul yelled, falling to the ground. Before the phantom got close enough to finish him, Raoul jumped up and came after the phantom with vigor, his posture straighter. Their swords locked, and somehow he managed to knock the phantom's sword free. He kicked it out of reach. With a yell he raised his own sword to strike.
Maybe I did not know exactly what I wanted, but I knew I could not stand here and watch the vicomte kill a man who had saved me. A man who, for reasons unknown to me, took me under his wing for a time, and cared enough to buy me a gown; cared enough to fill a young woman's bed with dead rats and threaten her to leave me alone; cared enough to protect me. I could not let him die.
I was not alone. At the same time I screamed No!, Christine shouted, "No, Raoul!"
"No," she said again. "Not like this."
Raoul paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. Turning back to the phantom, he seemed to consider the consequences of leaving him alive. To my surprise, a second later, he turned and strode away, putting his sword back in its sheath.
I hurried to where the phantom lay, panting through his teeth, his gaze of pure hatred following Raoul. After our last meeting, I thought I might hate the phantom too, when I next saw him. But now that we were face-to-face, with him in such a vulnerable position, I pitied him.
Holding my hand out, I offered it to the phantom. He blinked as he stared at it, the tightness in his face ebbing away. His eyes met mine, and I forced myself to stand resolute. No smile. I would offer him a hand up to show him I could continue to be civil, even if he could not, and I did not fear him, though he threatened my life.
"Jacqueline!"
My hand jerked away as I startled at the vicomte's sharp call. I peered back at him over my shoulder. He and Christine sat astride the horse, and he shook his head at me.
"Come."
Looking down at the phantom, I saw his anger return while he glared at Raoul. My resolve vanished in a swirling cloud of brutal memories and the old fear resurfaced. Did he now view me as an interloper like Raoul? That anger could easily turn on me. If his anger blinded him to reason as it did Benoit, then he might hurt me or even kill me. Would he even bat an eyelid if he did?
If you come down here again, I will kill you. You are too late to save me.
The memory of those haunting words in combination with his rage, swayed me. Our eyes locked.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Raoul brought the horse to a halt beside me, long enough only to help me up onto its white back behind him, before urging it into motion again. One more brief glimpse of the phantom revealed nothing new; save for an underlying layer of anger, his expression was unreadable. I did not dare look back again, but clung to the vicomte's back, praying I did not slide off the overburdened beast beneath us.
The whole encounter with the phantom twisted my insides into knots. I wasn't sure how this would affect us all, but I feared the worst retribution from the phantom.